


Five Times is Five Too Many !

by leo_minor



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: 5 Times, Fluff and Humor, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Over the Years, Period-Typical Homophobia, Platonic Kissing, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leo_minor/pseuds/leo_minor
Summary: They look at her. She looks at them. Randall is personally very tempted to leg it, but her hands have balled into jittery fists by her sides, and they seem eager to find a deserving target. Oh man, he thinks, still unable to chase away the idea that this entire situation is hilarious. We’ve really upset her this time !When she notes they’re sufficiently uncomfortable, she breathes out a very long, toneless whistle and forces her bunched-up shoulders to relax. With a look of pained benevolence, she closes her eyes and utters a single word :“TALK.”They remember five times, five occurrences, five scenes they'd nearly forgotten about, and decide that they probably shouldn't.
Relationships: Randall Ascot & Hershel Layton, Randall Ascot/Hershel Layton
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	Five Times is Five Too Many !

“You think this is funny, don’t you ?”

Randall tries his luck at a grin. It isn’t a very successful process. It _is_ quite funny, in his opinion, but he’s decided to keep it to himself for once. Hershel’s sitting next to him and staring intently at his knees, tracing around the specks of dirt on the fabric with his index. He’s going out of his way not to look at Angela, and he can’t blame him – standing tall before them, hands on her hips and blocking them from the sun, she’s like a titan. Huddled in her shadow, they both feel very small.

“Is it really such a…?” he starts, and immediately regrets it. The look in her eyes is murderous.

“Such a _big deal ?_ Well yes, actually, I’d say it is.” Her calmness is chilling. “Especially since, you know, the _whole village saw you !”_

“But the bridge isn’t visible from most of the village…” Hershel scratches his cheek uneasily. He’s already begun to realise his addition was an unwise move. “I don’t think that many people could have –“

He lets his words quiet down to a murmur, and die out completely. Keeping his gaze carefully away from the angry girl, he goes back to counting grains of dust and tiny pebbles.

“Word goes around fast. People who weren’t even out claim to have seen you, now – that’s how rumours work ! It only takes one person with a big mouth, and…” She stops to run a hand down her face. “I’m sorry, but both of you seem remarkably calm.”

Randall decides counting dirt flecks isn’t as boring as it seems, and launches into the task himself. Man, he’d never noticed how dirty his shoes were getting !

“It’s like you don’t know what’s coming. People are gonna call you all sorts of names ! This isn’t London, for god’s sake. What if it reaches your father, Randall ? What then ?”

She’s managed to make him uneasy. It’s such an easy jab that he almost resents her for it. He’s careful not to let it show when he lifts his head to meet her eyes.

“Come on ! Rumours are rumours. Everyone knows me and Hersh and good friends – we’ll say our side of the story and this one will die down as soon as all the others ! I – _we_ – kind of feel like you’re overreacting… don’t we, Hersh ?”

By his side, Hershel nods his head furiously.

“You’re just panicking, Angel !” He gives her a smile, and something softens in her eyes. “We’ll be alright. I know you’re worried, but it’ll turn out fine !”

Slowly, she bows her head and nods. Her arms return to her sides, where her fingers clench and unclench pensively. She lets out a sharp sigh and drops her killer glare at last. Both boys hold their breaths. Has the crisis been successfully aver– ?

“Seeing you so sure, I have to ask. This is the first time you’ve done this kind of thing, right ?”

A long pause.

The leaves rustling around the path seem so very loud.

Hershel’s combing his hands through his fringe, eyes smartly gazing into absolutely nothing. The bastard’s got it down to a T, but there are still pearls of sweat on his neck that betray him. Randall guesses he’s in a similar state and starts cleaning his glasses, physically refraining himself from whistling.

“ _Right ?”_ she asks again, and there’s a sharp note of threat in there.

“Ri– Right,” Hershel assures her in no more than a mumble. “It’s not like we – I mean, we _did…_ ”

He’s staring at Randall for a quick rescue, but he doesn’t get on much better. “No way ! We never, you know what I mean, didn’t _not_ –“

“Yeah, that’s it. We wouldn’t !”

“Exactly, it’s not something we would – _wouldn’t_ do !”

“That’s right. We would.”

“Not ! We would not ! We _did_ not –”

“ _Not_ do it before,” Hershel finishes, with some idea that they’ve been unconvincing.

They look at her. She looks at them. Randall is personally very tempted to leg it, but her hands have balled into jittery fists by her sides, and they seem eager to find a deserving target. Oh man, he thinks, still unable to chase away the idea that this entire situation is hilarious. We’ve really upset her this time !

Her stare becomes almost painful – Hershel’s holding a hand against his forehead, like he’s trying to keep her from burrowing into his brain. When she notes they’re sufficiently uncomfortable, she breathes out a very long, toneless whistle and forces her bunched-up shoulders to relax. With a look of pained benevolence, she closes her eyes and utters a single word :

“TALK.”

_first_

“I’m almost there !” Randall gasps, his voice faint behind a curtain of rustling leaves. The branch bends under his weight, enough for him to kneel. “Just a little bit more…”

To Hershel, it looks like _quite_ a bit more, but this is no time to disturb his friend’s focus. He’s pretty sure that he’ll fall soon anyway – he’d give it a fifty/fifty chance, seeing how his feet are kicking up there. He himself is happy where he is, seated on the little brick wall circling around the park. If Randall wants to tumble out of oak trees and let his lemonade cool, then so be it, but he prefers it when it’s not sprinkled with a dozen drowned flies.

“That branch is going to snap,” he points out conversationally. Randall yelps in response and hoists himself onto a higher, sturdier one. They’re eight and growing too fast (his mother’s words, not his), and it’s only a matter of time before that one starts to groan too, but the boy’s clearly intent on reaching the top. “Are you sure this is safe ?”

“Nope !”

“Won’t you come down, then ? Your ice is melting.”

“No way ! And admit defeat ? I just need to pull myself up onto that one, it’s bigger – hmph !”

Hershel twirls a straw around the forlorn drink. The ice cubes are nearly gone already. It’s going to spoil soon. “If you climb down,” he says, with a hint of cheek, “I’ll let you win our next fencing match !”

“Ha ! Like I need that to beat you !” He pokes his head out from the tree just to grin at him. “Mister Davies says I’m a natural !”

“What if you fall and break your wrist ?”

This seems to put a damper on him, because he sticks out his tongue and disappears back into the foliage. “I won’t ! I’m not even that high up !”

They both agree on that, then.

“Besides, this is just practice. I read that a lot of ruins end up hidden in caves, or encased in mountain walls – because of, uh, ero-juhn or something. I gotta be able to climb up there, Hersh !”

“I think people who do that have equipment,” he puts in. “Sort of harnesses, like the men who came to see Norwell wall. That way they, you know, don’t risk cracking their heads open.”

These wise words fall on deaf ears, because the boy’s at the top, and whopping with joy. He sits on the top branch, visible behind the last of the tree leaves, and gives a great big wave. Hershel waves back, mildly impressed. He’d really been expecting him to fall.

“There ! Was it so difficult ?” Randall calls, running a defiant thumb across his cheek. The pointier branches have left flaring red scratches there. “Come on up and join me, Hersh !”

It’s a tempting idea. Seeing how effortlessly Randall had gotten up, he guesses he could, too. Only, behind the little brick wall is his house, and in his house is his mother, no doubt spying on them at this very moment. He thinks about the thrill of the climb, and he thinks about the fiery row he’ll receive as soon as his feet touch the ground again, and before he has the time to make much of it Randall’s already coming down.

The boy’s feet shuffle onto a lower branch. He barely has the time to hop onto another before it cracks under his weight and tumbles to the ground – he looks at it crash with a touch of intimidation, and wraps his arms around the tree trunk. “This tree’s taller than it seems, huh ?”

“What, you scared of heights ?” To be fair, he does look a bit pale.

“Absolutely not !” he protests, without much gusto. “I came, I saw, I conquered, and now I’m climbing down, that’s all !”

“Well, be caref– ah !”

Hershel cries out for him, because Randall really doesn’t do much. His mouth barely has the time to form a silent oh as he tips backwards, tripping right off the branch and into thin air. Hershel almost expects the fall to go in slow-motion, a moment frozen in time, but it’s half a second of blur, and when he blinks Randall is lying flat on his back and trying very hard not to sniffle.

He hops off his perch and runs to his friend’s spot in the grass. He’s curled onto himself and laid both hands protectively over his knee. Hershel helps him sit up against the tree, and under their attentive eyes his fingers part, revealing a white cut running across his skin, just beginning to pearl with blood. They both wince as one.

“It stings like hell,” Randall says between clenched teeth. He would look rather fierce, were it not for his reddening nose.

There’s a told-you-so waiting to be said, but Hershel, eternally a good friend, bites it back. Instead he tells him to wait right there and runs back to the wall, where both their glasses are sitting in the sun. A few chunks of ice have survived the summer heat sheltered at the bottom of his glass, and he scoops them out with fumbling fingers.

“What’s that ?”

“Ice.” He kneels by his leg and touches the cut with one of the ice cubes. Randall visibly shivers. “Cold stops it swelling, I think.”

“Quick thinking, Hersh ! Is that a piece of your mum’s bounteous wisdom ?”

“Bounteous,” Hershel repeats in a whisper, amazed someone could use that word and fall out of a tree within the same five minutes. “Yeah, it is. She sticks bags of peas in the freezer and puts them on anything that looks like it hurts.”

“That reminds me of those scientists in the papers, that were trying to get people to live forever by freezin’ them alive !”

“That doesn’t sound possible at all.”

“And yet ! Preserves the organs, or summin’.”

Well, _this_ ice certainly isn’t preserving Randall’s knee. The cut has sprouted a sliver of blood that is running down his leg, mingling with the ice. It’s slippery with melted water and red stains. He abandons it in the grass, and it’s no great loss.

“Aw, hell,” Randall provides eloquently, and tries to wipe his knee clean. The blood smudges darkly over his pale skin, but a little more rubbing gets most of it off. The cut looks like it’s bleeding less. He runs his hands through the grass to dry them off and grimaces sourly. “Guess I’ll need a plaster.”

Hershel nods. His mother would have some, he expects. She keeps a little metal box full of them in the kitchen cupboard – the outside says custard creams, but the inside holds everything a nurse could ever dream of. She says the plasters are just to make sure the cuts don’t open again, because the real healing happens when–

“No need,” he says, with full confidence.

Randall looks up at him. “Got an idea ?”

“Not mine ! My mother’s again. She’s got this trick, and it works every time – takes the pain right away.”

And without thinking about it much more, he places a neat kiss on his friend’s knee.

Randall’s eyes widen. He opens his mouth, and shuts it against immediately, puffing out a breath. There’s a noise at the back of his throat that he’s holding back, a laugh that he’s trying hard to swallow. Hershel looks up and him and finds him grinning – the boy puts a hand on his shoulder and hoists himself up to his feet.

“Thanks, Hersh ! Looks like it worked !”

Hershel blinks, smiling a pleased smile. “It did ?”

“Sure ! With you around, I can fall out of as many trees as I want !”

“Haha, I guess – wait, no ! Please try not to –“

But Randall evades his poorly attempted grab and runs ahead of him, leaving a trail of bloodstains behind him on every few leaves. This doesn’t stop him from jumping over the brick wall, and from the other side, he shouts :

“Then get over here and stop me, Layton !”

_second_

“Got everything ?”

“I think so !” Randall says brightly, buckling the straps on his backpack. “Might have left my honour somewhere, but other than that, I’m all set !”

“I’m not convinced you had it when you came over !” Hershel’s leaning in the doorframe. His bored hands flick the corridor lights on and off, and on and off again.

There’s a thump from the floor below. “Stop that, dear !”

“Sorry, mum !” he calls, and shoves his hands back in his pockets. “I can’t believe I got you with such an easy puzzle, actually. Were you doing it on purpose, or what ?”

The extra jab reaches his friend, who grins loosely and pulls his bag onto his back, nose in the air. “Before last night, I didn’t consider _cheap card tricks_ to be puzzles, Hershel, but it’s always a good thing to widen one’s horizons !”

Hershel rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath.

“Who you calling daft, ‘ey ?”

“You,” he says sweetly, and starts down the stairs.

Randall’s right behind him by the time they reach the living room. He picks his jacket off the coat hanger and goes straight for his shoes. Lucille Layton emerges from the kitchen with a trayful of biscuits and a frown, and watches him tie his shoelaces on the doorstep.

“Are you quite sure you can’t stay for a cup of tea ?” she inquires, “It’s barely eleven, surely your father…”

Hershel shakes his head from the other side of the room. She trails off and puts the tray down, but looks mighty unhappy about it. “Well, you know you’re always welcome here, dear. Any time.”

“That’s very kind of you, ma’am,” he says. With his jacket slipped on, he tugs his bag’s strap back onto his shoulder. “Thank you for having me !”

“No trouble at all, it’s always a pleasure. Won’t you have a biscuit before you go ?”

Randall has a biscuit. So does Hershel, and seeing her tray a little emptier seems to cheer his mother up. She fusses in and out of the kitchen quick enough to follow them onto the front step, where she breathes in the morning air and mumbles something about opening the windows. He and Randall stand side by side on porch and look at the cobbled street leading further into the village. All of a sudden it seems like such a long way away.

“Is Mr Layton around ?” Randall asks, shuffling his feet. Delay, delay. “I’d feel bad about leaving without saying goodbye !”

Lucille gives a pretty laugh. “Oh, dear – if he heard you call him that, he’d give you an earful, alright ! Roland is working on the back garden, but don’t you worry, we’ll pass on your farewells. We wouldn’t want you to get into trouble for being home late !”

The idea only darkens the boy’s tense expression. Hershel reaches out to touch his shoulder. “Ill walk back with you, if you’d like. I’m sure that would be alright.”

“Of course !” his mother cuts in brightly. “You boys go off together. As long as Hershel’s back for lunch, I don’t mind one bit.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. I reckon it’s better I go off alone.” His frown turns into the cockiest of grins, and he reaches out to punch his friend’s shoulder. “Besides, I need to figure out how you _cheated_ with that puzzle last night.”

“I did _not_ cheat,” Hershel protests, biting down a smirk.

“Sure you didn’t ! But I’ll break that trick down, mark my words !”

“Looking forward to it, Ascot.”

Randall flips him off as discreetly as he can to preserve Lucille’s sensitive eyes and turns his back on him to go to her. She gives him her brightest smile and wraps her arms around his back. He’s happy to lean in and return her embrace.

“Come back whenever you want, dear.”

“You can count on it !” They step back, and he leans in to kiss her wrinkled cheek. She laughs, eyes twinkling, and pats his shoulder with a gentle hand. “Bye, Mrs Layton. Have a good Sunday !”

“And the same to you, Randall.”

Hershel, the bastard, is waiting right behind him, and they nearly bump into each other when he turns around. He’s wearing the most shit-eating grin that he’s ever seen, but when he opens his arms, who’s Randall to refuse ? They hug for a few seconds under Lucille’s fond gaze, and when they split he, guided by ever-treacherous muscle memory, gives Hershel’s cheek a quick peck.

There might have been a pause, but Hershel snorts before Randall even has the time to pull away, and Lucille’s merry laughter takes over from where it leaves off. He contributes a few embarrassed chuckles of his own, but before long it gets to him too. Hershel’s laughing so hard his face is red, and he has to rest a hand on Randall’s arm to keep upright – this only fuels the poor boy’s snickering, which is threatening to turn into a howl. The three of them work on their breathing sufficiently to ‘bloody quiet down’ as requested by the next house over, but Randall’s still wheezing slightly when he tries to speak again.

“I’ll – hah – see you tomorrow, Hersh,” he manages, wiping a stray tear. His chest is still vibrating. If he could carry the feeling home with him, he’d be the happiest kid in town. “Tha – uhhh – thanks again for having me over !”

“Always happy to,” Hershel tells him. They exchange one last nod, focusing intensely on not cracking up again, and with a parting wave, Randall starts up the street. He appears to be holding his ribs, and he can’t blame him – even his are sore as hell. Soon he disappears behind the brick wall encircling the little house, and that’s the last they see of them… until his head reappears at the end of the cobbled street. He runs back all the way to the front porch, where the Laytons stand curious, and once there doubles over onto his knees, clearly out of breath.

“How was the journey ?” Lucille enquires, sharing a sly grin with her son.

The poor boy lifts his head, barely, to flash them the brightest smile he can manage.

“Dandy ! But I’m pretty sure I forgot my toothbrush.”

_third_

They both stare at the piece of paper.

It’s cellotaped crooked to the changing rooms door, and the printing on it is as shabby as its placement. The greases on the corners look like they’re from the secretary’s home-cooked lunch. Lines have been hastily drawn down the paper, not a single one quite and thoroughly straight, and between those lines typed names and results sit snuggly. There are seventy little boxes, in two columns of thirty-five. At the top of both columns, their names stare back at them.

“Well,” Randall says, and Hershel has to agree.

They both take a few steps away from the list, giving it its space. It looks like it needs it pretty badly.

“Next week, then. I won’t go easy on you, man !”

“Next week it is. Plenty of time to prepare for your inevitable defeat, isn’t it ?”

Randall sneers at him playfully and drops his fencing mask back onto his face. Under the shadow of the mesh and hardly visible, he still manages to radiate smugness. “We shall see, my friend ! We shall see.”

Hershel risks a look at the clock, holding his gear up above his forehead just a moment longer. Twenty-to-three. They have another fifteen minutes until they’re kicked out, then. He’s rather grateful – nylon and skin don’t mingle well in his case, and he’s itchy as hell. Rubbing the cramp forming in his forearm, he turns away and feels a rush of air hit his face.

“If you really intend to beat me, you’ve gotta be ready at all times for, say, a surprise attack !”

While announcing your intentions in such a manner is a completely stupid and very Randall thing to do, it doesn’t cut Hershel any slack. His friend is much quicker, and knows it – the tip of his blade nearly reaches his throat before he even realises what’s going on. His epee is still slack in his grasp, far too low to block off a direct attack. With his blade higher-up, Randall has the advantage. There’s no movement he can’t parry, except maybe something completely insane. Something unhinged and slightly against the rules.

Only slightly, he decides, and slides to the right just in time to avoid getting skewered. Randall has a little less mobility on that side, and the move wins Hershel a few seconds, more than enough to trip his alert friend up with a strategically late foot. The tip of his epee touches his back a mere second before he hits the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees. He lets go of his blade and lets it roll away. Hershel does the same, fighting a smug grin.

“If you wanna try that kind of thing, you’ve got to be ready for a counter-attack, _Randy.”_

“That was not even slightly allowed,” the young man complains. He rolls onto his stomach and pulls his mask off again, risking a hand through sweaty hair. “I’ll give you points for quick reflexes, though !”

“Why, thank you.”

Randall makes a big show of examining his palms (unscathed) and his legs (equally so) for any sign of blunt and heartless trauma. He clearly finds more that Hershel does, because he writhes on the floor like a dying man, clutching his chest with a shaking hand. His pained groans are almost convincing.

“I trusted you, Hershel,” he rasps, punctuating his speech with weak coughs. “I put my life in your hands, and you – you fiend ! You betrayed me !”

Hershel rolls his eyes and extends a hand. Randall glares right into his eyes as he takes it and lets him pull him back onto his feet, stumbling a lot more than absolutely necessary. Swallowing down a laugh at the haughty look on his face, Hershel gives the back of his hand a kiss before letting it go.

“My most heartfelt apologies, your Ladyship,” he tells him, and gives a mock bow.

He’s not entirely surprised when Randall thumps the back of his head with his fist and tells him, with all the love in the world, to piss off.

_fourth_

Hershel shivers.

Then he shivers again, and, almost an afterthought, risks a soft sneeze.

Randall estimates he’s shivered around fifty or sixty times in the past ten minutes, and it’s getting quite concerning. It seems to be an unconscious reaction, which isn’t a reassurance. Hershel just keeps pausing to shiver and then shuffling forward again, looking ahead of them like nothing much is up. Well, ten minutes is enough, and Randall comes to a halt.

Hershel’s five steps ahead when he realises he’s walking alone and backtracks, shivering another three times just to drive it home. He doesn’t look too bad, honestly, maybe a little pale. But then again, they’ve been walking for a while, and they’re bound to start to tire soon. For Hershel, that soon seems to have fast become now.

“Found something ?” he asks, miraculously holding back his shivers long enough to speak.

“Yeah ! The greatest finding of all : a good place to take a break.”

Hershel looks dubious. Rightfully so – the spot is unremarkable at best, unattractive at worst. Sharp-looking pieces of rock stick out of the pebbled path every few feet and the road is as secure as a one-wheeled cart (not to mention just as likely to derail). It’s got big stones paving the banks down to the river below and a few sprouts of green, and nothing more. It all looks rather bleak and grey. Unfortunately their surroundings look the same ahead and behind them, and they have to stop _somewhere._ Randall finds the biggest rock and perches on top of it, slipping his bag over his shoulder to set it at his feet.

“C’mere, Hersh. You look like you’d do with a bit of a sit down.”

The suggestion takes a visible few seconds to reach his friend, and drags his feet forward to join him. Shiver, step, shiver. He kicks a stray stone off his path dejectedly and climbs up besides Randall. Another shiver for good luck. Up close, Randall notices he’s flushed slightly. It’s not the greatest sign there is.

“Are you doing okay ?” he tries, watching him fight a cough. It’s a sorry sight. “You’re not, are you ? Look, take this.”

He pulls himself free of his jacket and drapes it on top of Hershel’s shoulders. The fabric is too thin to do any good, especially since his clothes are still soaking underneath, but he figures it’s still better than nothing. Hershel seems to agree, and pulls it a little tighter around himself. He looks, quite frankly, utterly miserable.

“I’m never going on an outing with you ever again,” he says.

“Well, excuse me ! You trippin’ into the river wasn’t part of my original plans for today !”

Hershel glares. “I did not _trip._ The whole bank is full of loose rocks –“

“You _loosin’ your footing_ then,” Randall corrects himself. “Same difference.”

“Yeah, well the end result’s the same. I feel like shit.”

He reaches for his own backpack and pulls the zip free with stumbling fingers. There’s half a sandwich and an orange in there left over from their lunch break. He takes one look and lets the bag fall back into his lap. Randall hops off the rock and makes a decision.

“We’re going home.”

“No !” Hershel pauses, as if he’s not too sure why he’s protesting. “I mean – we’ve come too far to turn back now. You think that the –“ (shiver) “– the site is right up ahead, right ?”

It is, hidden behind the hill’s bend. Hershel’s right, they’re close. But as much as it pains him to admit, not close enough. The turn is hardly visible from here. Seeing the state on the poor guy, he might collapse before they reach that point. And then Randall would be the only one to see what they’ve walking all day to find, and what would be the point of that ? Besides…

“It’s not worth it,” Randall tells him, managing a smile. “We can always come back later when you’re not on the brink of exhaustion, Hersh. The ruins aren’t going anywhere fast.”

Hershel shakes his head, moving to stand. “I can do it ! I’ve made it this far. Let’s just rest here for a minute and I’ll be good to go.”

They look at each other for a moment, and it’s a matter of who’ll call out the bullshit first, but Hershel stands strong. Randall will never understand what goes on in his head. To get him to come along had been a parade of bargaining and pleas, but now he won’t budge despite hardly being able to stay upright. Well-aware that nothing he can say will sway him, Randall goes up to the rock and grabs Hershel’s face with two steady hands. And before his friend can protest, he plants a kiss square on his forehead.

Almost immediately his chest starts to rumble with laughter that’s most outraged than humorous.

“You liar !” he exclaims, grinning despite his better judgement. “You bloody fibber ! You’re as hot as a kettle !”

“That’s a bare-faced exaggeration,” Hershel tries to retort, but his nose is getting clogged up and half of his consonants barely come out. He settles on swatting Randall away from his face and looking extremely sullen, fighting a losing battle with every shiver that grips him.

“You’ve got a fever. Don’t try to tell me you don’t have a fever, man, look at you –“

“I don’t have a fever ! I’m just feeling a bit queasy. You can’t develop a fever that fast !”

“Put a sock in it,” Randall tells him bluntly, and pulls both their bags onto his back. “You’re sick. We’re going back. And people have the audacity to say I’m the stubborn one in our friendship !”

Hershel mutters something better left unheard and steps down onto the path. He stands very still for a second, and another, and a third, and nearly trips over his own feet. Randall offers him a helping grasp. He uses the newfound balance to spare a hand and shield his face from what little sunlight blesses Southern England in October.

“I’ll admit… that my temperature may be… slightly above average.”

“Well then, let’s take it slow.”

_fifth_

“You can see me in water but I never get wet. What am I ?”

“Damn. That brings up ye olde debate – is water wet ?”

“Yes, Hershel. Water’s wet.”

“That’s – okay. Then I’d have to say a reflection.”

“My turn. An old man on his way to Bournemouth stops by to talk to a farmer on his farm along the road. The farmer’s got eight fetching young lads working under him, and each has eight darlings, each of which has eight mules, rented out to eight different merchants. How many people are off to Bournemouth, then ?”

“An old classic revisited, eh ? Only one, and what a poor sod. Bournemouth of all places !”

“My uncle lives there, actually. It’s not as bad as they say it is.”

“First you eat me, then you get eaten. What am I ?”

“That sounds so wrong. But the answer is a fishhook, right ?”

“Correct again, Hersh !”

“I’m starting to run out. What do people buy to eat but never eat ?”

“Cutlery, plates, bowls – you name it. Are you starting to tire ?”

“Alrighty. Here’s my last one ! I don't have eyes, but once I did see. Once I had thoughts, but now I'm white and empty.”

“Your dad’s cold, dead heart.”

“No ! I mean, yeah, but a heart can’t exactly have _thoughts_ , can it ?”

“You get the idea.

“Guess again !”

“Fine. White and empty… white and empty and I once did see. So I used to have eyes and I used to have thoughts – a skull ! It’s a skull, isn’t it ?”

“You’re getting too good at this, Hershel,” Randall mourns. “You’re so hard to out-riddle these days !”

The young man grins heartily. “Why, thank you. I’ve been harassed into some sort of skill, apparently.”

Randall kicks him in the shin, and the blow is nearly enough to make him topple off the wall they’re sitting on. Stansbury’s good at leaving those around, standing alone where a full house was once set, a pile of dodgy but trustworthy red bricks. They provide a much better view of the village and its sunlit streets. Under the early evening sky, the walls and cobblestones glow a pleasant orange. The sun is taking its time to set, and below it leaves glisten peacefully. The sight would have left Hershel basking in warm satisfaction if it wasn’t for the dull ache in his leg.

“Shouldn’t you be home soon ?” he asks his friend. “Someone might come looking for you.”

Randall laughs. “You’re mighty eager to be rid of me, aren’t you ?”

“You know that’s not how I mean it.”

“Nothing to worry about anyway, at least not until nightfall,” he shrugs. “As far as my mother’s concerned, I’m very busy studying late because I’m a serious and dedicated student.”

“As we all know.”

“I’m glad we agree !”

Hershel considers for a moment, before sliding down the wall and back onto the muddy little path they’d come down. “In that case, want to walk home with me ? There might be a sandwich in there for you.”

“You know full well I can’t refuse that,” the young man grins, and hops down as well. “Let’s go !”

They make their way up the path and into the small patch of trees that hug the road in and out of the village. The roots have already begun to bite into the asphalt. They walk in silence for a while under the shadow of the trees, concentrating mostly on not tripping up or stepping into a hole. By the time they emerge from the thicket, the unstable footing is hardly an afterthought.

The sun hits Hershel’s face at just the right angle to make him feel peaceful without permanently damaging his retina. It’s a rare balance, and he’s sure to savour it – Randall, trailing by his side, is squinting like a maniac. Even the wind is accommodating today. Its gentle breeze carries in the smells from uptown, the bakery and the market and the pine trees way up north. Under his feet is a path he’s walked all his life, and he’s all at once overwhelmed with a sense of _belonging_ that’s not as agreeable as it once was.

He looks over at Randall. Hands in the pockets of his jeans, he’s walking forward looking straight ahead, missing all the little things. Randall’s planning to move to London in September. Hershel has no clue what he’ll do once he graduates, but he doesn’t know if he can bring himself to leave. Everything he knows is here.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Randall quips, as they walk over the bridge. It’s disproportionally tiny, much like the stream that runs beneath it. “You’ve got a crease in your forehead, Hersh.”

“Nothing much.” His fingers fiddle with the fabric of his tie. “I’m just thinking about what it’ll be like, after this summer.”

“Have you decided where you’ll apply ?”

“No. I’m not even sure what I want to study, honestly. I’ve been putting off seriously considering it, but… What’s wrong ?”

Randall doesn’t answer. He’s stopped a few feet behind like a deer in headlights, mouth hanging half open. At first Hershel assumes he’s just staring into thin air, but his eyes are locked on the pavements ahead of them. There’s nothing worth noting there, other than one or two passers-by, but when he turns back to his friend, he looks so very frightened that Hershel feels his own heart drop.

“Ran– ?”

The sound of his name rattles the young man out of his shock, and he lurches forward to wrap two hands around the collar of Hershel’s shirt. “Kiss me ! I need you to kiss me right now !”

Hershel snorts so hard that he’s surprised nothing comes out of his nose. “Won’t you take me out for dinner first ?”

“I’m serious, you sod !” he hisses in his face. “That’s my father coming this way !”

A quick look confirms his claims. The man’s strolling towards the bridge, looking as sombre as ever. Hershel wonders if the man ever spares a smile. “Don’t you think there’s a better –“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake !” Randall whines, and cuts him right off. He barely has the time to regain his balance and the young man’s already in his face and pressing their lips together. With his hands steady on his shoulders he steers Hershel away from the bridge, his back to the road, effectively completely from view. There’s a brief rustle of fabric behind him, and footsteps recede. Tensely they lean in closer to each other. Man, Hershel distantly thinks – Angela gets to do this every day.

And then danger is averted and Randall steps away and the thought is forever lost.

“It worked ! He walked right past ! Blimey, Hersh, I thought I was in for it !” He notices the look on his poor friend’s face and seemingly regains his memory of the past few seconds. “I – thank you for saving my ass, man. Sorry it was so sudden, I kind of –“

“Panicked ?” Hershel hazards. He feels somewhat dizzy.

“I was gonna say I lost my shit, but that’s the gist of it.”

“Well, either way, it’s over now.”

“Right you are !”

They stand there in silence for a moment.

Randall risks a cough. “Do you think someone saw –“

“I don’t know.” Hershel scratches the back of his neck. “That wouldn’t be too good for us, would it ?”

“I doubt it.”

_and now,_

Angela flicks them both in the forehead with the sort of agility that only comes from seasoned practice.

Their trip down memory lane comes to a brusque end. Hershel has the sense to bite his tongue and keep his blinking to a bare minimum. Unfortunately, Randall’s reflexes prove poorer, and he yelps gracefully, hands flying to his forehead. Their friend does not look particularly content.

“Did you not hear me ? I told you to talk !”

They risk a glance at each other. Reminiscence has proved this to be a terrible idea.

“We heard,” Hershel tries, holding up a pacifying hand. “We’re taking this seriously, I promise.”

“There’s just nothing to tell !” Randall’s tone is just a little too wild, and they both catch what calm had been left within her vanish completely. The young man turns pale. “I mean, honestly, Angel, we haven’t done anything indecent ! Me and Hersh don’t go around making out on every street – it was a one-off thing !”

Both of them stare at him.

“That… may have come out wrong.”

“Why don’t you say it a little louder,” she hisses, “so you’re sure _everyone_ ’s heard all proper ?”

“There’s no one around !”

“There will be if you keep _shouting_ like that !” she cries. It takes her a moment to lower her tone. “To do something like that, just to hide –“

“From my _father,_ ” Randall reminds her. “It was an emergency, or it would never have happened ! There was just so little time, and…”

Her glare does not cool. “In what world was that the most logical, let alone _efficient,_ course of action ? Honestly ?”

Hershel opens his mouth, no doubt to agree, but a sharp nudge from his friend is enough to shut him up.

“As much as I’m angry – and trust me, I am ! – I’m mostly worried for you two idiots ! Not everyone will believe your excuses !”

“But they’re not excuses,” Hershel says quietly. “Just the truth.”

“Well, I…”

Faced with their demure silence, she finds herself losing fuel. They both look so calm (so _unbothered_!) She tries to glare a little longer, to push through, but Randall’s eyes meet hers and she lets go of the reproaches she’d held on the tip of her tongue.

“To your credit,” she speaks at last, “it did work.”

Her change in tone is cue enough. Randall stands up and, once he’s completely sure he won’t get whacked, pulls her into a hug. Her arms slowly wrap around his back. She sighs into his shoulder and sinks her fingers into the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m still upset,” she informs him, voice slightly muffled. “Just so you know.”

“I know,” he laughs. “We’re not close to hearing the last of this, but things will be okay ! Look, if Hershel’s not telling me off, it’s that this whole thing isn’t that bad.”

The young man in question is busy tugging at the loose string hanging from his shirt sleeve. He mouths something mildly injurious that Randall decides to ignore.

“There’s some truth to that,” Angela mutters, smiling slyly at him over Randall’s shoulder. “Thank goodness he keeps a leash on you.”

“Hey !”

They part, and she takes a few steps back, breathing out at last. Her eyes are soft on him. “I guess you’ll talk your way out of this one like always, won’t you ?”

“You can count on it, Angel ! There’s nothing I can’t deflect.”

“I’m aware,” she scoffs, turning her nose up. Above them the sky is taking on a purplish tint at the edge of the horizon. Darkened clouds swallow the last of the sunlight. “It’s way too late. I should have been home at least an hour ago. Can I really trust you two not to do another stupid thing before tomorrow ?”

Both of them nod confidently. Both also know it’s probably beyond them.

“Very well,” she sighs. “I’m heading back. You should as well, or you’ll get Henry in trouble.”

“Noted. We’ll be on our way !”

“Alright… I’ll see you two tomorrow, then. Goodnight !”

She waves at Hershel, and leans forward to kiss Randall’s cheek. Hugging her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, she turns and gives them one last look.

“Be ready to be told off again in the morning !”

Judging from her tone of voice, it’s safe to laugh; they try, but all that comes of it is a weak, nervous chuckle which they let die away as soon as she disappears behind the hill. Randall drops his wave and sinks down to the ground, where he crosses his legs as casually as possible. His hands are jittery on the pebbled path.

“That was close ! I was preparing to die.”

Hershel tries to get his shoulders to relax. They’re tensed up nearly to his ears. “Haaah – I can’t believe she dropped it so quickly. I don’t know how long we would have lasted.”

“Yeah, I find it strange too.” Randall goes quiet for a moment. “I feel like she didn’t want to think about it too hard.”

“Should we have told her ?” he asks. He leans forward, with his chin resting on top of his palm, and looks down the little path ahead. There’s something uncomfortable still weighing him down, something he can’t wrap his head around. “About the stuff we did before, I mean.”

“Are you kidding ? She’d have had our skins !”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“Look, I don’t know why either,” Randall says. He turns to look at his friend. “None of it was bad. None of it even seemed weird at the time. Have you ever thought back to those times before today ?”

“No,” Hershel replies honestly. “I mean, they were like any other day. Nothing special.“

“Nothing special ! That’s right ! Certainly nothing to feel _ashamed_ about, so what’s the fuss a– ?”

“It’s not a puzzle,” he stops him in his tracks. He’s headed nowhere fast. “There’s no big reason. It’s just something people agree on, and there are plenty of others, and I don’t get it either, but there it is ! There’s no source, and certainly no logic, and _we_ don’t have to agree with it, but –“

He’s forced to stop, out of breath, and gives his friend a long look. “Let’s just keep it to ourselves, okay ? Let’s not give them something to talk about.”

Randall holds his stare for a moment, and when he opens his mouth again it’s to let out a long, toneless sigh. He brushes the pebbles off his jeans and moves to get up. “You’re right too often, Hersh. It’s very annoying.”

“One of us has to be,” he jokes, and offers him a hand. “So no more impromptu kisses in broad daylight, a’ight ?”

“In broad daylight, you say ?” Back on his feet, Randall’s shaken his blues right off. “Is that right ?”

“That’s right.”

“I find it interesting you’re making that distinction !”

“Don’t read into it,” Hershel says, and there’s a note of warning in his voice. It’s, of course, gracefully ignored.

“So kisses at night are a-OK ? What about, say, when the sun starts to set ? Dusk ? Is dusk an acceptable kissing-hour ?”

“Don’t –“

“Push it ? Very well, I won’t,” he shrugs, looking positively impish. “But if you _do_ ever want to give them something to talk about…”

“Be quiet, Ascot.”

“ _’Be quiet, Ascot’_ ! Don’t fight it, Hershel. I can tell you want to !”

“You’re impossible !” Hershel informs him. The corners of his lips are twitching with effort to keep back a grin. “Shut it or I’ll tell on you. I’m sure Angela’s not far ahead !”

“You snitch ! You wouldn’t !” his friend protests. Outrage puts a spring in his step. “You’re bluffing ! She’d rip into you, too !”

Hershel raises an eyebrow. “Maybe, maybe not. Are you willing to take the chance ?”

“…and how would you define _broad_ daylight anyway ? The period during which the sun is at its highest point ? The least cloudy time of the day ? You’re not being very preci–“

“Kissing and any other affectionate gesture is prohibited from six am to eight pm approx.,” Hershel says with his best terms-and-conditions voice. “Hours are liable to change depending on season, climate and location. Please refer to our annexe for additional information related to these changes. Bzzt.”

“And what time is it right now ?”

“Time to go earn that sandwich I mentioned earlier on,” he answers smoothly, and gets ahead down the path. “Also known as half-past seven.”

“Message received loud and clear ! Hey – don’t leave me behind !”

Randall runs up to his level and kicks him in the back of the leg for his troubles. They continue down the cobbled street side-by-side, looking ahead into the village's warm lights. Lamps are being clicked on behind curtains, light switches pressed in corridors. Windows are closed, shutters are pulled, and above them the sunset rolls into the night.

Hershel gives his friend a quick glance, and finds him smiling at the ground. "What's up ?"

"Nothing," Randall says. "I just _do_ think it's pretty funny."

Hershel thinks back to Randall, his glasses askew nearly tipping off his nose, his hands wrapped around his collar like a lifeline, to their sweaty and awkward and un-noteworthy moment with their feet in the mud and grass and their eyes screwed shut, and the bursting anger in Angela's gaze when she'd run to the scene, so very disproportionate, and he's forced to admit :

"I think it's the funniest thing that's happened in a while."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you very much for reading ! feedback is much appreciated ! have a wonderful day !


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